Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(61)

“But I always have room for dessert,” she said.

There was something about the way she said it, the way she was holding his gaze and turning pink in the cheeks that had him saying, “I brought cookies, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Cookies?” Her smile faltered and she worried her lower lip—clearly unsure of what he was really offering. “What else is on the menu?”

Adam leaned in and, making himself clear as f*cking day, whispered, “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” Harper blinked, as if she hadn’t really expected that to be an option. Neither had he until he said it.

Indecision played across her face and—whoa, wasn’t that interesting? The ball was completely in her court and that was completely terrifying and exciting, because Adam knew her answer would be equally as unexpected. Everything about her was unexpected.

If he were a smart man, this was where he’d hand over the cookies, wish her a good night, and get the hell out of there before she invited him in. Because he could tell she was processing her options. Knew she was going through each and every scenario. Each and every time he’d played with her, only to walk away. But he wasn’t a smart man because he wasn’t walking away this time.

Not tonight.

Not unless she asked him to leave, which with every second passing he started to wonder if that was the direction she was going. Which would totally suck. So he found himself saying, “Anything.”

She looked at him for what felt like an eternity, and he told himself to be patient. Told himself to give her time and that no matter what she chose he’d be happy. And okay, happy was pushing it, because although sharing cookies and time with Harper would be fun, he was really hoping she took a risk on him and went for the fun-f*cking-tastic option.

He knew the minute she’d made her decision. Her lips curled up into a sinful smile that was all temptation and trouble, and unexpected didn’t even begin to explain the situation.

Her arms slid around his neck, her soft curves lining up just perfectly, and her mouth, yeah, that mouth of hers rested right on his. Not kissing, not teasing, but applying enough pressure to blow his f*cking mind.

“I choose you,” she said. Then, as if that wasn’t the biggest green light in the history of the f*cking planet, her eyes fluttered closed and she kissed him. Right there on the front porch next to the gnome colony and beneath the flickering night-light, like they were teenagers and this was their first date. Which had Adam thinking about their second date, and the one after that—and, finally, the one where he screwed it up.

Then he stopped thinking because the only thing thinking was giving him was a headache, and kissing Harper was the biggest rush he’d ever felt. And he felt a lot—her hands in his hair, her tongue in his mouth taking the kiss deeper, their connection stronger. So strong he found himself wanting more, so he walked her backward into her apartment, kicking the door closed behind them, and wondered how he’d become such a lucky SOB.

Her hands were on the move, roaming down his chest, her fingers stopping to fiddle with that bow. Not the one on the bottoms—if he didn’t open his mouth they’d get to that—but the one holding that top together, because—

Ho-ly.

Shit.

This was happening.

And why the hell not? They both wanted this, had for a while now. And she had made her choice.

Only she chose him, which surely meant something. But with her tugging on that bow he couldn’t wrap his mind around what. Okay, his mind knew—it was his dick that was in denial. He didn’t really think she fully understood what that choice meant, because if she had, she would have said, “I choose sex,” or maybe, “I choose to get my cookies naked, up against the wall, while you make me scream out your name.”

All adequate responses for a woman who knew the deal. But she’d chosen him, a guy who no sane woman would choose. And sure, Harper was a crazy cutie, but this was disaster in the making. She pretended like she knew the deal, was cool with the deal, but it was clear she didn’t and she wasn’t, otherwise she wouldn’t have given that bow another little tug, this time with enough pressure to loosen the ribbon.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked. About me?

She looked up at him, so sincerely as though weighing his question with the utmost importance, as though searching past his words to the heart—his heart—and seeing him for everything he was. More importantly, everything he wasn’t.

“More than sure.”

“I don’t do relationships,” he reminded her.

“And yet you’re already in one,” she said. “It would be a shame not to at least explore the benefits.”

“I do love exploring,” he said. “Where do you think we should start?”

“How about we start with this and see where it leads?”

Without warning, Harper reached up and gave a final tug of the bow. He could hear the slide of the fabric as the bow became toe ribbons. And the ribbons became insignificant as inch by incredible inch the fabric fell to the sides, exposing more and more of that silky strip of skin beneath. Until finally, finally, she let go and the top fell to the floor in one swoop, leaving her in nothing but those fuzzy slippers and silk bottoms, and confirming that (a) this was going to happen, right here, right now, and (b) she wasn’t wearing a bra under that silk, which led him to (c) that if he thought Harper in a lacy bra was smoking, he was about to go up in some serious flames, because Harper in nothing was about the hottest thing he’d ever seen, which finally brought him to (d) that unless she was sporting the tiniest of G-strings under those shorts, then—